A white horse stood at the top of a high hill, overlooking the spires and turrets of the great city of Lirethel, the center of commerce and trade for all Thessolan. The horse’s rider smiled softly, thinking back over the long and difficult journey that had brought her here. She was a striking sight, hazel eyes alert, and a long braid of chestnut hair falling down her back. Her skin was light, with an even tan, stretched over taut muscles and criss-crossed by intricate patterns in faded blue paint. She was entirely naked, with a gray pendant in the shape of a seashell upon her chest, gently moving with her breath. She was known as Emily, the Stoneshell Bearer.

The journey from Paja Abbey had taken much longer than three weeks. The night after the ritual, they gathered all the supplies they could carry, the Shard of True Reflection and every last drop of Azure Essence. The Heartflame had been consumed by the ritual, and the magic purple rug was nowhere to be found, much to Emily’s chagrin.

Being unable to carry all their supplies on foot, Emily and her companions had taken horses from the Paja Abbey stables and fled under the cover of darkness. They had grown mistrustful of the abbess, who had done nothing to save Emily from the Nightmoss, and were eager to leave the abbey before Lady Elara’s promised return.

The party had been six strong—Emily, Aria, Talyndra, Dorian, Sigrid, and Bromberht. The latter two had parted ways with the group before Lirethel, expressing their distaste for cities. Being of like mind and temperament, they had decided to embark on their own quest for riches and glory in battle.

“Hope to see less of you when we meet again, Em,” Sigrid had said, before patting her painted back goodbye.

“I think the paint suits ‘er,” Brom had added, winking. “Wish there was more I could do to ta thank ya for breaking me out of the stone prison.”

The Nightmoss’s influence on the Stoneshell was constant, burning up anything that Emily attempted to wear. She had tried different fabrics and different leaves, even armor, but to no avail. The Nightmoss was a jealous parasite, constantly whispering its promises of safety and dignity against Emily’s plight as it caused the Azure Essence protecting her skin to slowly fade.

To keep the Nightmoss from possessing Emily again, it was necessary to reapply the Essence constantly. A coat of Essence applied indiscriminately, as it had been on the night of the ritual, would last only a few hours. If the Essence was applied according to the patterns shown in Emily’s true reflection, it would last up to three days. These patterns were ever-shifting and seldom did much to obscure Emily’s nudity—if anything, they highlighted it, drawing the eyes to parts of the body other women kept under wraps.

As the Essence slipped off brushes and rags, it had to be applied by hand. Aria and Talyndra took turns at this, redoing the patterns whenever they began to look faded.

Though their travel had been greatly eased by the horses, they had encountered many diversions on the road to Lirethel. They’d passed through villages both friendly and distrustful, undertaken errands for farmers, escaped bandits and bloodthirsty beasts, and passed through strange and mystical places. All the while, their supply of Azure Essence had dwindled, while the Nightmoss remained a constant threat, nestled within the Stoneshell pendant, contained only by the Essence and Emily’s constant vigilance.

Emily had learned to live this way as well as she could. Although finding adequate covering had often been surprisingly difficult during her time in Thessolan, it was now an impossibility. At least until they could find a remedy for her current affliction. That was the hope Lirethel represented.

Lirethel, with its towering buildings and winding streets, teemed with throngs of people who would no doubt find the painted lady to be an unusual and interesting sight. Of course, there had been no shortage of commotion and consternation surrounding Emily’s presence in the weeks since the ritual and the emergence of the Nightmoss. Though they had kept mostly to the wilderness and studiously avoided larger population centers, the course of fate had brought them into encounters with travelers, farmers, and even villages. Emily’s legend had begun to precede her.

They had done their share of good for this world, Emily thought. Taking one last look at Lirethel, she turned her horse and headed down the hill, towards the campsite her companions had been preparing. The horse, whom Emily had named Snowflake, whinnied softly and complied.

At the base of the hill, Emily heard the sound of merry chatter. The voices belonged to Aria and Talyndra, and were emanating from behind a copse of trees. She dismounted Snowflake and gave her an affectionate pat on the nose before venturing between the trees.

The air here was warm, with earth-scented steam rising in billowing clouds. Aria and Talyndra were sitting half-submerged in the waters of a natural hot spring ringed by smooth, moss-covered stones. “Look what we found, Emily!” exclaimed Talyndra, sinking into the steaming water with a contented sigh.

“Join us,” Aria said, smiling blissfully. Her only adornment was the Bronzeband on her upper arm, glinting in the late afternoon light. As she no longer had the strength or invulnerability of a living statue, Emily had insisted that she keep the artifact for the sake of her own defense. Retaining a special kinship with stone, she had quickly grown quite proficient with it.

Both women’s clothes were folded neatly at the side of the pool. Having no need to disrobe, Emily stepped at once into the blissfully hot water and sank slowly, luxuriously, until it enveloped her up to her shoulders. Already, she could feel the aches and pains in her muscles from weeks in the saddle begin to dissolve.

“I can’t remember when last I felt such warmth,” Aria said. She ran a hand through the water, watching the ripples spread.

“You said it,” Talyndra sighed happily, kicking her feet and sending a small splash in Emily’s direction. “Beats washing in a half-frozen stream, watching out for klipperfish.”

Emily chuckled, scooping up a handful of the warm water and letting it run over her shoulders. In this misty spring, her nudity was natural, unremarkable. “Tell me about it. I thought I’d never be clean again after Soggy Bottom Marsh.”

“We must reapply the Essence soon,” Aria said, her expression turning more serious as she glanced at Emily’s skin. The blue outlines were growing fainter by the moment. “But sparingly. We do not have much left.”

“Maybe four more full applications,” Talyndra conjectured, her cheerful mood souring slightly. “We need to find this Olenius character, and fast. Before we have to start watering it down.”

Emily sighed, the brief feeling of peace punctured by the familiar anxiety. “And before Elara finds us. I can’t believe she hasn’t caught up to us yet.”

“Dorian’s counter-wards have been effective,” Aria noted. “As has Talyndra’s wilderness knowledge. But it is only a matter of time before we must face Elara again. Surely she has already heard the rumors of a painted lady and her companions.”

Emily blushed. “We had to help that family in Wenster. I couldn’t just let them be run out for a crime they hadn’t committed.”

“And the wood elves of Turtree were great allies,” Talyndra added.

“I won’t soon forget the village of Un,” Aria said.

Emily chuckled. “I’ll never forget the looks on your faces when they made you all strip in the middle of the village square! For once, I was the decent one. My life would be a lot easier if there were more villages like Un.”

“You were a real trendsetter there!” Talyndra added. “Everyone was painting themselves by the time we left. I was just glad to put my leaves back on.”

“Sounds nice,” Emily retorted, unable to keep the hint of bitterness from her voice. Their brief stop in the nudist village of Un had been the only time when Emily had not envied Talyndra’s leaves, or Aria’s dresses.

They fell into a thoughtful silence, listening to the gentle burbling of the spring and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“I hope that Olenius will be able to help me,” Emily said, tracing a pattern on the water’s surface. “From everything Dorian’s told me, I think he will, but…” She trailed off as she recalled her conversation with Evangeline in the strange place between life and death. The original Stoneshell Bearer had been convinced that the only way to stop the Nightmoss was for Emily to leave Thessolan. Would Olenius tell her the same thing?

“Neither Zephyr’s journal nor Althea’s quests can provide us with guidance, now that the Elid curse has been broken,” Aria mused. “But if Olenius cannot help us, there will be another who can. Lirethel is full of great mages and scholars, in this age just as it was in my time. Why, Lirethel was our first destination, Emily. After we find a way to destroy the Nightmoss, the mages will surely be able to show you how to return to your home world.”

“If it’s even possible,” Emily murmured.

“It is,” Talyndra said. She sat up in the water, her dark eyes flashing. “If you came here, you can go back. Simple.”

“Yes,” Aria affirmed. “I don’t know how, but we will find a way. I, most of all, will help you find a way.” She looked at Emily, a soft, grateful smile on her face. “Every time I look at you, Emily, I remember what you’ve sacrificed for me.”

Emily looked at her friends—the fierce, loyal wood elf and the wise, elegant woman who had once been a statue. If there were a way to cure her, they would find it. If there were a way for her to return home, they would find it.

Emily leaned back against the warm, smooth stone, closing her eyes and letting the water support her.

A loud throat clearing caused Emily to sit up with a start. She had dozed off, and Talyndra and Aria were no longer sitting in the hot spring. Instead, Dorian stood a few feet away from the spring, hands behind his back, a smile playing at his lips, eyes respectfully averted—not that it mattered much after so many weeks on the road.

“Olenius is expecting us on the morrow,” he said. “I just received his latest letter by carrier dove. He sounds most intrigued by your condition and very eager to help.”

“That’s good,” Emily replied, a little groggily. “It would be a terrible waste having come all this way if he wasn’t.”

“He’s always been a late sleeper, so I doubt we shall see him before the afternoon,” said Dorian. He paused for a moment before continuing. “Today is a holiday in Lirethel, and all the city is out celebrating. It is a magnificent place at night, without compare in all of Thessolan.”

“Sounds fun,” she said.

“I would love for you to see it for yourself,” Dorian said.

Emily blanched. “I’m hardly, uh, dressed for the occasion.” For her to walk through the city with glowing runes on her skin would be a parade in itself. And they were faded enough now that there was a real danger of a different, much more deadly parade should she not have them reapplied soon.

Dorian’s smile widened. “I have a solution for that.” Pulling one hand from behind his back, he presented a crystal jar full of glowing Azure Essence. “We can leave the Stoneshell in here. The Essence should contain the Nightmoss, at least for the evening.”

Emily’s hand flew to her chest. Ever since she had retrieved the Stoneshell from the Labyrinthine Pool, she had only been separated from it in times of great distress. It had been a link to Aria and the other statues, easing the burden of their curse. Since its infection by the Nightmoss, she had not let it away from her for even a moment.

The Stoneshell was the source of her power and protection in this strange and dangerous world. Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of being unable to summon flame to her hand, being unable to teleport, or heal wounds. She would be helpless without it. Vulnerable. Naked.

“It would just be for the evening,” Dorian said, clearly seeing the distress on her face. “And without the Stoneshell around your neck, you would be able to wear this dress.” His other arm now came into view, and it held a beautiful dress of midnight-blue fabric. “Talyndra wanted to make another you another leaf dress, but I thought you might like something a bit more… normal. I picked this up from a traveling merchant.”

Emily’s eyes lit up at the sight of the dress, imagining how its soft fabric would feel against her skin. Since the ritual, her attempts at finding clothing had been uniformly disastrous. Submerging the Stoneshell in Azure Essence was a stroke of genius! How had they not thought of this sooner?

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Emily said, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you, Dorian.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he said, cradling the dress in the crook of his elbow and unscrewing the lid of the jar. “Now put it in quickly, before the moss has time to spread.”

Emily stood up and stepped out of the spring, warm water dripping off her skin. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself before reaching for the clasp behind her neck. Every muscle in her body visibly tensed as she released it. She felt a brief sensation of panic, then dizziness. Fighting both, she pulled the Stoneshell away from her body and dropped it into the waiting jar. It sank to the bottom instantly and was obscured by the swirl of the Essence. Dorian replaced the lid. “I’ll hold onto this,” he said, depositing it in his pocket.

The wind whipped up, sending a shiver down Emily’s spine. Without the Stoneshell, she was truly naked, and she felt it. The patterns of Azure Essence against her skin had almost completely disappeared. Dorian handed her the dress and turned his back to her—a pointless gesture after all this time, but welcome.

She spied a towel upon the rocks at her feet—clearly left by Talyndra. After drying herself off—the first time she’d been able to do anything but air dry since leaving Paja—she put on the dress.

The fabric was just as soft and welcoming as she’d imagined it, and she spun around, watching the dress twirl around her. Wanting to see how she looked, she reached for the Shard of True Reflection, which had been placed next to the towel, but then stopped, chuckling softly at her foolishness. That particular mirror was no good for trying clothes on. Still, she retrieved the shard and deposited it in a pocket—how wonderful to have pockets!

“I brought sandals as well,” said Dorian, presenting Emily with a pair of silver sandals. “Those cobblestones are tough on bare soles.”

Emily slipped the sandals on gratefully. Her feet were hardened from many weeks of walking without shoes or boots, the toes spread wide apart. Cobblestones would likely present no challenge. But shoes were just as welcome as the dress, both being essential for the costume of a normal woman, a role she was eager to play.

Dorian, she now noticed, was wearing a dark tunic and trousers she hadn’t seen before. Both were in a much neater, less fraying state than much of the rest of his wardrobe. He smiled at her, his eyes resting on her in a way that he had seldom allowed them to. “You look beautiful, milday,” he said. “Let us away.”

They left Snowflake with Aria and Talyndra at the main campsite and rode Dorian’s gray stallion into the city, Emily holding on at Dorian’s waist. It was a relief not to be stared at or gawped at by travelers or merchants, who became more numerous as they approached the outer walls of Lirethel.

As they drew closer, the scale of the city became apparent. The walls were impossibly high, and the gatehouse was a fortress in itself, surrounded by giant, imposing statues of knights and mages—thankfully not the living kind.

The guards waved them through after Dorian presented some papers to them, one tipping his helmet politely at Emily. “Enjoy the festival,” he said warmly.

They dismounted Dorian’s horse and left him near a trough with other travelers’ steeds. Within the walls, Lirethel teemed with life. The main thoroughfares were thronged with people, and the air was alive with music, laughter, and shouts of excitement. Thousands of lanterns shaped like every kind of bird and beast floated through the air, shining a kaleidoscope of moving color onto the white marble buildings.

There were more people here in one place than Emily had seen since departing Paja Abbey. She clutched at her chest reflexively, feeling a mixture of relief at the soft touch of fabric and anxiety at the absence of the Stoneshell.

Dorian must have sensed her hesitation, moving closer. “Is it too much?”

“No,” Emily decided. “No, it’s… amazing! We’re just two people in the crowd.”

He smiled. “I know a place that should be a little quieter.”

Pulling her down a narrow alley, he proceeded to plot a course through a maze of small side streets. The sounds of the festival were still present, but here it was a pleasant backdrop. As they walked, he pointed out buildings he knew and places that had changed since his last visit—he had spent much of his childhood and teen years in Lirethel.

Their destination was a small restaurant called the Wizard’s Kitchen, tucked into a quiet square with a large fountain at its center. A large balcony on the restaurant’s second floor offered a perfect view of the main parade route on the far side of the square, far away from and above the teeming crowd.

At the table with the best view, Dorian pulled Emily’s chair out before sitting down opposite her. A waiter dressed in purple robes and a pointed hat soon appeared to take their order.

“This feels really normal,” said Emily, as the waiter hurried off to fetch the bottle of wine Dorian had insisted on. “Most things are very different here, but this is a lot like a restaurant in my world. Though the robes would probably look tackier there.”

“It’s a homecoming for both of us, then,” Dorian said.

The food was simple but delicious—freshly baked bread with rich butter, seared fish with herbs, and a delicate white wine. As they ate, they watched what seemed to be the festival’s main event—a grand parade of enormous floats, both magical and mundane, drifting down the main thoroughfare. They saw a shimmering galleon made entirely of flowing water, held in place by some magic, and a giant figure made of living flowers that waved to the crowd. This was followed by a magnificent dragon made of ruffled paper, whooping and spiralling through the air, even breathing masses of sparkling confetti over the delighted crowd.

Emily watched, spellbound. “This is incredible,” she said softly.

“It’s an old tradition,” Dorian explained. “Each guild and institute builds a float representing their craft, and they try to outdo themselves and each other every year.”

“Did you ever make one of those?”

Dorian sighed. “Spellbreaking doesn’t have much spectacle. We mostly helped with the clean-up.” He glanced at the shimmering waves of confetti still descending over the crowds. “Glad I’m not on duty tonight.”

“No wonder you left!” Emily replied, making a playfully aghast face. “You’re capable of so much more than a magical janitorial work.”

“I’ll remember that next time there’s a wayward Stoneshell fire.”

“Please don’t!”

She told him about parades from her world, trying to explain the physics of a helium balloon shaped like cartoon characters, a concept he found amusing. “So they’re filled with this ‘helium’ stuff and held down by strings? Otherwise they’d just float away? And you can’t just cast a spell to keep them in place?”

“There’s no magic on Earth,” Emily laughed. “Unless you count cards up sleeves.”

Their conversation flowed easily, weaving through tales of their different worlds, their shared journey, and quiet observations about the festivalgoers. He learned that her favorite color was the deep blue of a twilight sky right after sunset. She learned that he secretly preferred sweet cakes to savory pies. Inconsequential chatter was a welcome change from the frantic shouts of battle and the fraught arguments over the best course to take over inhospitable terrain.

As the parade began to wind down, a different kind of procession started. Couples, young and old, began making their way to the fountain in the center of the square. They would each light a small, simple paper lantern, whisper something to it, and release it onto the water’s surface, where it would join dozens of others, creating a floating constellation.

“What are they doing?” Emily asked.

“Lovers’ Lanterns,” Dorian said, watching an elderly couple release their light onto the water. “Light a lantern, make a secret promise, or a wish for the future. Or both.”

He looked at her, the question unspoken in his eyes. Emily felt a blush creep up her neck, but she nodded.

Their meal finished and paid for, Dorian bought a simple, unadorned lantern from a street vendor. They walked together to the edge of the fountain, the low murmur of other couples around them. The water reflected the starry sky and the last of the floating festival lights.

“What do we wish for?” Emily whispered.

Dorian looked not at the lantern, but at her. “I think,” he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of the fountain, “I’ll just wish for more evenings like this one.”

Emily’s hand joined his atop the small lantern. “Me too,” she whispered.

Lighting steel against flint, Dorian lit the small candle inside. It took a few tries before the flame caught. “I’m a bit out of practice,” he said. “Haven’t needed to do this myself in a long time.”

Emily clutched at her chest, momentarily missing the Stoneshell, but then fell into a relaxed smile.

Watching the flame flicker atop the candle, they gently lowered the paper lantern onto the water. It began to float away, towards the myriad of other lanterns in the middle of the fountain. They watched it for a long time, side-by-side, occasionally glancing at one another.

The peace was broken by a sudden, sharp crack. Dorian drew a sharp breath and reached into his pocket. His face fell, and he looked somberly at Emily. “It’s the jar of Essence,” he said. “It won’t hold much longer.”

Emily scanned the buildings around the square. “There’s an inn over there. Let’s go!”

The inn’s proprietor was only too happy to take the fistful of gold coins Dorian hurriedly stuffed into his hand and led them to a small room near the back of the building. He gave Dorian a conspicuous wink as he shut the door behind them, clearly oblivious to their increasing panic.

Dorian slammed the jar down on the small dressing table. It was fully black inside, with a large crack expanding down its side.

“Did you get any on you?” Emily asked, staring fixedly at Dorian’s hand.

“I don’t think so,” Dorian said, flexing his fingers. “Do you have the Shard?”

Fumbling, Emily pulled the Shard of True Reflection from her dress pocket. With shaking hands, she expanded it to full size and set it down against a wall. The familiar sight of her reflection, naked and glistening with blue Azure Essence, stared back at her.

“I… thought it would last longer. Thought we would have enough time to go back to camp,” said Dorian. “But I came prepared. He produced a second, unsullied jar of Azure Essence, which cast an eerie blue glow over the small room. “I hope this will be enough.”

Their eyes met, each anticipating the task ahead. “Dorian,” Emily breathed, her hands going to the bodice of her dress.

Dorian unscrewed the cap on the jar of Essence and gave Emily a single, sharp nod. Touching her shoulder, he led her to a low stool in front of the Shard.

Her hands shaking slightly, Emily untied the leafy fastenings. She let the dress slide from her shoulders and pool at her feet, and then sat down, looking over her shoulder at Dorian’s solemn expression. She was naked before him, her body a canvas awaiting his touch.

Crouching behind her, Dorian dipped the fingers of his right hand into the jar of pure Azure Essence. Emily suppressed a gasp as he touched her shoulder, the Essence cold and slick, his palm warm, lingering just a moment too long. She glanced nervously at the barely restrained Nightmoss in the cracked jar on the table. “Better hurry,” she breathed.

Dorian adjusted the position of the Shard of True Reflection and studied the patterns on Emily’s reflection. He then traced the lines of the Essence pattern across her shoulderblades and down her arms, his touch gentle but firm and precise, leaving trails of cool blue that glowed faintly in the dim room. He then moved lower, down to the pattern in the small of her back, and then lower still, his fingers brushing the curve of her hip, sending an involuntary shiver up her spine.

Emily sat rigid, her breath shallow, every nerve alight. She had sat for this ritual countless times since the monks had first painted her in the middle of the Stone Circle, but it had always been the soft hands of Aria or Talyndra’s spindly fingers applying the Essence, never the large, rough hands of Dorian. But he mapped her body with a tenderness far exceeding their practiced motions.

Dorian’s brow furrowed in concentration as he painted the confining patterns down the sides of her thighs, then across her calves and feet. He then looked up at her eyes and applied Essence to her face, his expression unreadable, his breath hitching slightly.

Emily’s breath quickened as he completed her collarbones and moved down to her chest. He traced a looping spiral directly over her heart, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of her left breast. A jolt shot through them both.

Breathing steady, he moved lower, painting runes down her torso and over the soft curve of her stomach. Emily couldn’t help but let out a small giggle as his hands tickled her skin, drawing a faint smile to his lips.

“Almost finished now,” he said. “Just… open up a bit.”

Glancing at the Shard to confirm the final brushstrokes, Emily obediently pulled her thighs apart, blushing and attempting to calm her heavy breathing.

Dorian’s face was red too, as he dipped his fingers in the last of the Azure Essence and applied it to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Emily bit her lip, forcing herself to remain perfectly still, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. When he was done, he brought his eyes up to meet hers. They looked at each other for a long, tense moment, breaths synchronizing.

A loud crack broke the silence. “The Nightmoss!” Dorian shouted.

For the jar of Nightmoss had now broken open, and black sludge was rapidly pouring down the table, the Stoneshell bobbing on top.

Emily stood up at once and called the Stoneshell to her. Compelled by the bond with its bearer, it leaped from the table, spun in the air, and landed perfectly against the glowing runes so recently applied to Emily’s skin. On contact, it turned from oozing black to its normal dull gray.

A Stoneshell fire made quick work of the rest of the Nightmoss, and Emily and Dorian hurriedly stamped it out before it could do much damage to the room’s fixtures. Dorian opened a window to let the smoke out, and they stood, breathing heavily, avoiding each other’s gazes.

The door shook with heavy knocking. “What’s ‘appening in there? I smell smoke!” a voice shouted. The door handle rattled.

Emily and Dorian looked at each other with wide eyes. With Emily fully painted and wielding the Stoneshell once more, there was no sense in causing more of a scene then they absolutely needed to. They silently agreed that it would be better not to give the eyes and ears of everyone in the inn any reason to focus on them.

“Room’s already over-paid for,” Dorian said. “Let’s make a discrete exit.” After hastily retrieving the Shard of True Reflection, he knelt by the open window, hands cupped to give Emily a boost.

Moments later, Emily’s bare soles hit the grimy cobblestones. She already missed her sandals. Dorian swiftly followed, dropping lightly from the windowsill. They now stood outside the hotel, in a narrow alleyway. The sun had gone down, but the sound of festivities continued, though somewhat fainter than they had been.

“We should be able to keep a low profile if we travel in the opposite direction from the parade,” Dorian said.

“Back to the city gates?” Emily asked.

Dorian frowned. “The gates will be closed for the night. There’s no getting out that way until morning.”

“I should have made a fire back at camp,” Emily said. “Then we could just teleport back.” A teleportation fire was usually the first part of any camp they set up.

“There’s another way out of the city,” Dorian said. “If you don’t mind getting wet.” He pointed down the alley. “There’s a canal that runs under the north wall. It’s not pleasant, but it will get us outside.”

“At least I won’t have to deal with waterlogged clothes,” Emily said, shrugging. “Though I did like that dress.”

They sprinted through a labyrinth of dark, deserted alleyways, the shouts of the inn’s proprietor soon becoming inaudible.

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Emily asked, becoming increasingly disoriented.

“Roughly,” Dorian replied. “I’m trying to take a route that won’t have the whole of Lirethel staring at you.”

“Noted.”

As they rounded a corner, a scene of violence stopped them short. In a small, dead-end courtyard lit by a single flickering lantern, a wealthy-looking merchant was pinned against a wall by three burly thugs. One held a knife to his throat while the others rifled through his satchel.

“Give us the rest, little man, and we won’t slit your throat,” the leader snarled.

Emily didn’t even hesitate. She thrust a hand forward, and a searing, white-hot fireball streaked across the courtyard and exploded against the stone wall an inch from the lead thug’s head. The stone glowed cherry-red from the impact, and the man yelped, leaping back, smoke rising from his unkempt hair.

The thugs spun around, their eyes wide. They clearly weren’t expecting to encounter a naked, rune-covered firemage.

“Drop the coins and the knife,” Dorian said icily. “She won’t miss next time.”

One of the thugs, recovering his nerve, decided to test his luck. He let out a yell and charged, brandishing a heavy club. At the same time, the one with the knife lunged not at Emily, but at the merchant, intending to finish the job.

A pile of rags against the wall burst into flame, and Emily teleported to it. She caught the knife-wielding thug’s arm, and he howled in pain as his sleeve caught fire. The knife clattered to the cobblestone floor.

Almost simultaneously, Dorian side-stepped the charging thug with the club, putting a foot out to trip him. He wrested the club from the thug’s hand and flung it into the fire.

The third thug, seeing his companions so effortlessly neutralized, dropped the satchel and fled into the darkness. They shouted curses after him, but quickly followed his example, the first thug still batting at the fire on his sleeve. Emily sent a fireball after them for good measure.

“Th-thank you,” the merchant stammered, scrambling to gather his scattered belongings. “By the Founders, thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” Emily said, crossing her arms over her chest.

The merchant’s eyes suddenly lit up with terror. “You’re… you’re the Painted Lady!” He held his satchel out, legs quivering with fear. “Please, take it! Just spare me!”

Emily cast a confused look at Dorian. “What? I… I don’t want your money. And I’m certainly not going to hurt you!”

“R-really?” the merchant stammered, lowering his satchel slowly, as if expecting a trick. “We just saved your life,” said Dorian, his tone firm but reassuring.

The merchant blinked, glancing between them, his breathing still ragged. He took a cautious step back, but then paused. “I… I suppose you did,” he said, his voice steadying a bit. “You could have let those brutes finish me off, or worse. Forgive me. I jumped to conclusions, based on those posters.” He bowed deeply, though his hands still trembled slightly.

“Posters?” asked Emily.

“Y-yes, the, uh, wanted posters,” the merchant continued, straightening up but keeping his distance. “They just started going up a few days ago. A powerful house is offering quite the reward for your capture—if you’re the real Painted Lady, of course. But I don’t suppose other ladies would be running around naked, tossing fireballs about.” He chuckled nervously.

Emily bit her lip and hugged her arms tighter to her body. “I wouldn’t either, if I had a choice.”

“Where did you see this poster?” asked Dorian.

The merchant relaxed slightly. “I have one right here, as a matter of fact,” he said, digging in his satchel. He produced a roll of brown parchment, which unfurled into a portrait of Emily, Azure Essence, Stoneshell, and breasts prominently featured.

“Wanted for crimes against magic,” it read, “Painted Lady. Goes by Emily. Reward: One thousand gold. Present alive and with all artifacts at Odonata House, Lord’s Quarter, Lirethel.”

“Odonata,” Emily mouthed. She looked at Dorian, and a cold chill ran through both of them. Elara was here, in Lirethel.

The merchant cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, this may sound like a strange request,” the merchant began, “but I was wondering if you could maybe, uh, sign it for me?” He produced an inkpot and quill and held them out to Emily, grinning sheepishly.

Emily chuckled. “Sure, why not?” She had infinitely more pressing concerns now, but how many girls from Greenville had ever signed their own wanted poster? Though she would have preferred if the artist hadn’t felt the need to paint below the Stoneshell.

Once they had seen the merchant safely out of the alleyway, Dorian and Emily stood and looked at each other. They were both breathing heavily, their veins still spiked with adrenaline from the fight. “That was a rush,” Emily said.

“We should get to the canal before we run into anyone else. I don’t feel like dealing with bounty hunters tonight,” Dorian said.

“Because of the posters?”

Dorian nodded gravely. “I put you in danger tonight. I’m sorry about that.”

Emily touched his hand. “Don’t be.”

Two left and one right turns later, they reached the canal’s edge, though they smelled it before they saw it. The water was dark and fast-moving.

“Ready?” Dorian asked, a grim set to his mouth.

Emily eyed the water nervously, but nodded, touching the Stoneshell. “I should be asking you that. Stay close, Dorian.” Pressing her fingers to her nose, she hopped into the water, landing with a quiet splash.

The shock of it stole Emily’s breath, but a moment later, the Stoneshell’s magic activated. The suffocating pressure vanished, and she drew a lungful of water as if it were air.

Dorian soon joined her, having kicked off his shoes and removed his tunic. He gave her a thumbs up, holding his breath. She took his hand and pulled him under.

The world beneath Lirethel was a silent, murky maze. The canal flowed through ancient, moss-covered tunnels, the only light coming from faint glimmers filtering through grates high above. Emily swam with powerful, confident strokes, towing Dorian along. He was a capable swimmer, but his time underwater was limited. She focused on speed, her only thought to get them to the other side of the wall before his air ran out.

As they rounded a bend in the main channel that ran beneath the city wall, a strange, powerful light bloomed in the darkness ahead. Not diffuse moonlight, but a moving procession of small, underwater lanterns.

Emily slowed, pulling Dorian behind a thick stone support pillar. She peered around the edge. A regal procession of merfolk approached, their powerful tails churned the water. They were clad in pearls and precious metals, and each held a trident. At their head, a crown of gold and blue jewels resting on his golden hair, was a merman who made her heart stop.

Caelum.

He looked every inch the king. Gone was the exiled knight; in his place swam a ruler, confident and powerful.

He hadn’t seen them yet. They could stay hidden, let the procession pass. But Dorian was running out of time. His chest was starting to heave, his grip on her hand tightening. They had to surface.

Squeezing Dorian’s hand, Emily kicked powerfully upwards, towards the water’s surface.

They rose through the murky water, breaking the surface in a small, enclosed grotto where the canal exited the city wall. Dorian gasped, greedily sucking in the damp night air, clinging to the stone edge of the tunnel.

“Was that…?” he began to ask, once he had recovered enough air to speak.

“Caelum,” Emily said solemnly. “I didn’t expect to see him again.”

Dorian gave her an undecipherable look and then started to swim for shore. “I’ll… give you a moment,” he said, grabbing at a handful of reeds on the riverbank.

Emily started to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she nodded to Dorian and then dove back down.

The merfolk had seen them surface—Caelum’s guard leveled their tridents at her, their faces hard and suspicious. But with a raised hand, Caelum motioned for them to stand down. His eyes locked onto Emily, and his face lit up with a triumphant, brilliant smile. “Emily!” he cried out, his voice rich and deep with affection. “How glorious to lay eyes on you once more! And how resplendent you look, shorn of those peasant rags.”

“Caelum,” she breathed.

Caelum kicked his tail and brought himself before her, his guards forming a respectful semicircle around them.

“You have succeeded,” Emily said. It was not a question.

“The Kingdom of Nauticus pledged its banners to my cause,” Caelum confirmed, his voice ringing with newfound authority. “Queen Nera’s support turned the tide. Trilato’s forces scattered. Aquius is free, and the great houses of Mer are united under a single banner for the first time in generations.” His blue eyes shone with pride. “I have done as I vowed. I have proven myself.”

He held out his hand. “I have traveled for many days and nights along these narrow waterways, venturing far from the open ocean, so that I might spread the good news to those who walk above the water, that I might forge powerful alliances between land and sea, just as Thurseus Irontail did before me. This day, I exchanged promises of support with Queen Fiora, outside her Lirethel residence. I had not dared to hope that I would meet a second queen.”

Emily blushed, averting her gaze, allowing his hand to hang between them in the water.

“Our paths were fated to cross once more,” Caelum continued, gesturing wildly in his excitement. “The legends are being reborn, Emily. A new age has dawned for the Mer, united once more by the name Irontail.”

At this, he took her hand, pulling her towards him so that their faces nearly touched. “And at my side, as my queen, the heir of Evangeline will ensure peace between land and sea for a thousand years.”

His proposal was sincere. Here was the King of Sea, offering her a kingdom and a crown, a grander life than she had ever dreamed of, one that seemed almost destined. But he knew not of the Nightmoss.

He hardly knew of Emily, truly, of the girl from another world who had just tried to help her friends and find a way home, who was now trying her best not to destroy the whole world. He saw her as the Stoneshell Bearer, a living symbol he needed to complete his own legend as the resurrection of Thurseus Irontail. He needed an Evangeline.

She glanced up at the surface of the water, where she knew Dorian was waiting patiently by the side of the canal.

She looked into Caelum’s deep blue eyes, brimming with hope, and at the crown on his head. With a deep sigh, she found her answer.

“Caelum,” she began, her voice quavering, but then growing firm. “You are one of the bravest men I have ever met, and you have done great things. For me and your people. Know that I am forever in your debt for introducing me to Zephyr’s research, and for rescuing me from King Trilato.”

Caelum beamed, proudly puffing out his chest.

“I believe you will be a good and wise king,” Emily continued. “And the people of Mer will flourish under your rule.” She imagined the life of a Queen of Mer. A luxurious life, at home in the coral spires of Aquius, constant attendance by servants, attending galas and royal events, below and above the sea. And standing by Caelum’s side, letting him carry her through the waters, feeling his strong embrace. Yes, it would be quite a life.

Caelum’s smile widened, and he looked deep into her eyes, so deep she almost felt that he could see into her very soul. Almost.

“But I… I’m afraid I can’t be your queen,” she said softly.

The smile vanished. Confusion, then hurt, clouded his features. “But… the legend! Our destiny… Was it not prophesied?”

“That’s just it, Caelum,” Emily said, her lower lip trembling. “It’s Evangeline’s legend, her destiny. Not mine. Indeed, I wear her necklace, but I am not her. And you are not Thurseus Irontail. You deserve a queen who chooses you for who you are, not for the part she has to play in an ancient story.”

The truth of her words seemed to land, painful but undeniable. He looked at the Stoneshell on her chest, then back at her face, and for the first time, perhaps, he saw the distinction between the two.

“I don’t know if I believe in destiny, really,” Emily continued. “Things are different in Thessolan, but perhaps not so different.”

Caelum was silent for a long time. For a moment, Emily thought he might yell or lash out in anger. But he acted like the king he was, straightening up and putting on an expression of resigned sadness.

“I see,” he said, his voice clear. “I thank you for your honesty, Emily Stoneshell Bearer.” He gave her a slow, formal bow from the waist. “May the currents of your destiny carry you to a safe harbor.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Emily said. In a move that was probably a breach of royal etiquette, she placed a hand against his neck and kissed him softly on the cheek. “Rule well, King Caelum.”

A smile twitched on his lips, and then Caelum turned to his guards. “We are done here. We return to the sea.”

Without another look back, King Caelum of Mer swam ahead, his retinue following in silent unison. Emily watched until they had disappeared into the distance. She breathed out a deep sigh, wondering for a moment at the bubbles escaping her mouth. There was a great release of tension across her whole body, but also a kind of sadness. Her decision was the right one, she hoped.

Above the surface, she spied Dorian sitting on the shore, twirling a thistle between his fingers. “What’s news?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral as he offered her a hand.

Emily took his hand and scrambled up the bank. “He’s King of the Mer now,” she said quietly. “Was in the city to meet Queen Fiora.”

Dorian made a low whistle. “And he offered you the other half of the throne.”

Emily nodded, looking towards the woods. “He did.”

“But you’re here.”

“I am.” She squeezed his hand.

“So you said no?”

Emily nodded again. “He wasn’t asking me. He was asking the Stoneshell Bearer. He wanted an Evangeline to his Thurseus Irontail.” She let out a breath.

Dorian caressed the back of Emily’s hand with his thumb. “They made me chief of a halfling village once, you know.”

Emily giggled. “Don’t be jealous now. Let’s get back to camp. Talyndra and Aria are probably worried.”

Dorian nodded, and the two headed towards the woods. Emily had not released his hand.